Playing the Melody
by Emperor Itaelia
Summary: A collection of one hundred Nightmare oneshots. Jally, Shlock, General. Pairings vary. Rating varies, and may change. Most recent: "She loved the lightning, the thunder."
1. Snowflake

**Snowflake**

**Rating: **K

**Characters: **Jack, Sally

**Pairing(s): **Jally

**Warning(s): **None

**Dedication: **DarkMasterofCupcakes, for being an awesome friend and for being my sanity.

**Disclaimer: I still don't own it; I never have, and I never will.**

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And then it began to fall.

What it was, she didn't know. She hadn't seen anything as strange or beautiful as this in her entire life, and she had no idea before now that such a thing existed. Intricately sculpted, delicate opals fell from the heavens, glistening under the dark night sky. The moon – that titanic, golden drachma hovering in the sky as if suspended on an invisible, unbreakable thread – radiated a spectacular glow that danced off the approaching stars like skilled skaters on an ice rink.

Awe swallowed the spectators as they observed this foreign phenomenon. The fresh opals, each more unique than the one before, slowly rained down before them. She subconsciously reached out and one of the tiny, glistening shards fell into her palm. It shimmered like a crystal gazing ball or a still body of clear water. It divulged its formerly well-kept secrets to her, and she in turn cracked open her tessellated shell to its miniature and yet very grand brilliance. It showed her the colors of the rainbow, and colors that she did not know existed. Dazzling shades of clover green, emerald, teal, viridian, celadon, cerulean, azure, electric blue, lust red, and periwinkle flashed in front of her eyes, teasing her with offers of wisdom and mystery. Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished, and the glassy star melted into her hand.

As more and more began to fall, she heard Lock, Shock, and Barrel let out shrieks of delight and jump down from the roof of the Mayor's hearse, running towards the fountain. In a few mere seconds later, a large, compact ball of the sparkling fluff went spinning through the air and smacked into Jack's skull, followed by a succession of mischievous giggles. The skeleton only smiled good-naturedly as the trio ducked behind the fountain again.

Sally smiled as the scene before her was slowly transformed from its usual gray, dull color scheme to being shrouded in a cloak of the purest white that shimmered under the light of the full moon. With the thistle that she had previously plucked with caution in hand, she looked around once more before slipping through the bars of the gate leading out of town. She didn't even notice the spindly figure that followed her as she left.

Spiral Hill had been completely transformed thanks to Sandy Claw's gift. If not for the signature hill, the tombstones, and the small cluster of jack-o-lanterns, she would not have recognized it. It now had a strange friendliness and slightly romantic feel that dethroned the usual forbidding, creepy atmosphere. Sharp daggers of ice hung from the curl of the hill, and the milky veil had a soft glow to it. Her shoes left footprints in the veil, and she almost felt bad about disturbing the smooth, beautiful surface. The rag doll sat down at the upmost point of the hill with her ruby lips twisted in a content smile. Slowly, she plucked one petal off of the thistle... then another... and another... and –

"My dearest friend, if you don't mind," A voice sang behind her, and she turned to face the singer, "I'd like to join you by your side, where we can gaze into the stars..."

"And sit together," She joined him, their voices complimenting each other like two puzzle pieces fitting together, "Now and forever, for it is plain as anyone can see, we're simply meant to be."

Jack met her on the top, and his long fingers curled around her small, stitched hands. They exchanged a smile, before leaning into the embrace the other provided and sharing a first kiss. It was gentle like the petals of a healthy rose, innocent like a child, and purer than the cleanest drop of water. But through that kiss, they exchanged more than what could ever be said in words, and felt as though they finally understood each other to the fullest. No words were needed.

If this wasn't a happy ending, she didn't know what was.

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**A/N: This was short, I know, but I swear that the rest of them will be longer. This was inspired because we **_**finally**_** got a snowfall the other day, which was strange considering we usually get snow for the first time in October. So, I'm joining DarkMasterofCupcakes in doing an oneshot collection, but my aim is a hundred of them! One down, ninety-nine to go. Wish me luck; this will be a long ride.**

**~*Inferno Shock*~**


	2. Thoughts of a Father

**Thoughts of a Father**

**Rating: K**

**Characters: Dr. Finklestein, Sally**

**Pairing(s): None**

**Warning(s): None**

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She wasn't exactly what he would call an ideal conversation partner.

His creation was still only a few days old, and had not learned how to speak yet. She could understand him perfectly, that he could tell, but she could not yet express herself. She seemed saddened by this, but she always brightened when he assured her that she would grow to talk just as easily as he could.

Although she was temporarily mute, Sally was impatient with her progress as an experiment. She was always eager to learn how to do new tasks, and he saw how her face glowed like the grinning sun when he praised her. Despite her problem with communicating, he could see just what her personality was going to bud into.

She was tender and had a special appreciation for the world around her, regardless that she had not yet left the tower. She seemed to believe there was no evil in the world, and she handled everything as if it were made of fragile porcelain. It was a naïveté that he usually scoffed at. But she was still young, and had very little knowledge of much anything. Still, it was strange to see a monster of Halloween Town act how she did. Thankfully, that seemed to be fading. However, it was being half-replaced by a new emotion.

This particular quality of her worried him. It usually didn't show its large, hideous face in a place such as Halloween Town, and its name was caution. She was unusually shy, and normally was very nervous about any big changes. He remembered when he had moved her bedroom to a different room, one she had not seen before; she had had a very difficult time getting accustomed to her new living arrangements. On the rare occasion that they received guests, she would keep to herself.

The town's mad scientist was additionally concerned with her self-esteem. The rag doll had very little of it to begin with, and her sensitivity only made the situation worse. She was strong-willed, but she remained sensitive to harsh comments and criticism.

This little issue was one of the reasons that he wouldn't let her out into the town. Amongst other reasons, he knew that it was in the majority of the town's nature to criticize. When she requested access to the rest of the town, he denied. He kept one of his main motives from her; he did not want to see such a delicate creature get hurt. She was like a daughter to him, and he felt that it was his responsibility to protect her, both physically and emotionally. The townspeople could be rather harsh, and he did not want their judgment forced on her and possibly mold her into somebody who she would not want to be.

While he kept that from her, he hoped that she would grow to one day understand.

Sally acted as a diary, in a way. She was somebody whom he could spill his heart out to, and she would listen. He'd tell her about the rest of the town, what problems the town was facing, his latest discoveries, and his pride in how quickly she was adjusting. He would often do this while tightening her stitches or teaching her how to do things, but it became a morning routine. The rag doll would sit in a chair beside him, watching him work, and listening to what he had to say.

She was already showing that she was capable of feeling emotions; when he was discussing the problems he or the town were facing, her ruby lips would twist ever so slightly down and a crease would materialize on her forehead. When he was discussing more positive topics, she would smile, if a bit shyly, and her rich chocolate colored eyes would shine with all the innocence and happiness of the universe. She was quiet, and therefore could not contribute much to their "conversations".

But it didn't matter to him.

Dr. Finklestein didn't get many visitors, and he had a tendency to get lonely. Igor had been good company for a while, but he eventually wasn't enough anymore. The doctor wanted somebody who he really felt he could confide in, and who would help him keep his sanity. That's what had inspired him to make Sally. She was intended to be a daughter figure and a friend to him.

He had a folder filled to the brim with the things he wanted to teach her, and he took pages out whenever something was completed.

He had been delighted when she had begun to talk. Their conversations no longer seemed like a one-way conversation. She would offer her input and make little, sweet comments when she felt necessary. Sally was a polite girl, and she always waited for him to finish talking before starting herself.

She took to tidying up the laboratories, and when she learned to cook, she always wanted to cook their meals herself. He had been taken aback by those two activities that she practically begged him to allow her to perform.

Dr. Finklestein had never felt happier.

Then, she began to change.

She dreamed of the outside town, of the celebrations and the town events.

At first, she backed off when he told her that she wasn't ready for outside socializing.

Then, he started getting knocked out every time he ate. She was going to great lengths to get outside, into the world he tried to protect her from.

He missed the old Sally.

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**A/N: A different look on Dr. Finklestein's relationship with Sally.**

**Reviews make an author happy!**

**~*Inferno Shock*~**


	3. Colors

**Colors**

**Characters: **Lock, Shock

**Pairing(s): **Shlock

**Warning(s): **A small thing later on, but nothing explicit.

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Lock had always liked the color red.

It had been his favorite color for as far back as he could remember, and considering that he had an exceptional memory, that meant that he had liked the color for a very long time.

Of course, that fact would be less than surprising to anybody that was foolish enough to ask.

His wardrobe, excluding his shoes, was made up of every hue in the red spectrum. Opening his wardrobe every day and night greeted him with splashes of vermillion, ruby, crimson, sangria, maroon, scarlet, cardinal, Persian, and rust red right down to his few pairs of socks. His flannel pajamas were red; his tail was red; his hair was red. His bed sheets were red, his towel in the washroom was red, and he even had a single pair of brick red shoes that were set apart from his usual pair. His mask, which he had hung on the outside of his bedroom door when he and Barrel had stopped sharing a bedroom, was red. He always used the red paint when he and his cohorts would graffiti the walls of the main room and hallways. The ghoulish puppet wielding an axe that lurked around on his top shelf had red skin. And when Jack Skellington, not knowing the harm it would cause, attempted to try his hand at that strange holiday (Christmas, was it?) and sent the band of sweet-toothed tricksters to kidnap the holiday's leader, the devil had been particularly drawn to the candy apple red color that blanketed at least half of the town on the white, unstable ground, regardless it was much brighter than the reds of Halloween Town that he was used to. He even liked the red of the holly berries and the candy canes.

Shock or Barrel would occasionally openly ridicule him for being so attached to the warm color, but he couldn't care less. He couldn't explain it; he just liked the color red.

He had once skimmed through a book that was about the meaning of different colors (why they had it in the first place, he might never know). According to the book, red symbolized energy, war, danger, strength, power, determination, passion, desire, and love.

Well, he couldn't say he cared. Sure, he was happy with the first six descriptions, but the last three? Now that was just ridiculous. Then again, Lock wasn't one to believe such stuff. In his opinion, a color was a color, and there was nothing more to it. He didn't understand why anybody thought otherwise. Still, the matter didn't concern him, so who was he to care?

A finger coated in lime green paint touching his forehead brought him out of his reverie.

"Hey!" He complained, springing to his feet. Shock gave a vicious giggle and dipped her hand back into the green paint bucket beside her. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows to keep any paint from getting on the lace trim of her favorite dress, and she was clutching a piece of chalk in her right hand. (Her gloves had been abandoned back on the stool of her escritoire, as she had spilled a bottle of perfume on them and was now waiting for them to dry.)

Dodging her paint-soaked hand, he rushed into the washroom and peered into the mirror, examining the vandalism done to his forehead. A growl escaped between his razor-sharp teeth as he read (backwards, as he was looking into the mirror) the green words scrawled on his forehead in the witch's curly handwriting.

_Pinhead._

"You got paint in my hair!" He snapped loudly, receiving another fit of shrill laughter in response, "Girls!" Lock growled to himself, deliberately grabbing one of her white, lace trimmed handkerchiefs that had her name embroidered in dark pink thread on it (as if one of the boys would ever mistake her stuff as their own) and used it to wipe the paint off to the best of his abilities. Dumping the previously folded, clean cloth into the sink, he returned to the main room with a scowl plastered on his face.

"Aw, you wiped it off!" Shock pouted, wiping the paint on her hand off on the hybrid couch.

"Yeah, did you expect me to walk around with 'pinhead' on my head all day?"

"Now that would be a photograph-worthy image," She smirked. Rolling his silver and yellow eyes, he grabbed a random paint bucket and raised it, a devilish grin spreading over his face as she paled noticeably, "You wouldn't dare!"

"I wouldn't?" He challenged, jolting the bucket slightly. She shrieked and dodged a small splash of red paint that flew out of the bucket.

"Ooh, you little devil!" Shock's voice chimed with annoyance before she tackled him from behind, launching them both into a fistfight on the wooden floor.

Twenty-three minutes, one black eye, and one bloody lip later, Shock let out a triumphant shriek as she pinned him down on the floor. They both were still for a moment, doing no more than exchanging snarky glares and smirks of conquering pride and breathing somewhat heavily.

"Jerk," He close to whispered, his pale cheeks flushing. The young necromancer only grinned proudly in response.

"Say it," She demanded, sitting up on his stomach.

"What? That you're a jerk?"

"No!" Her wicked grin widened, and he shook his head, knowing exactly what she meant.

"Never!"

"Alright, then, I guess I'll just stay here," She shrugged, folding her hands in her lap and putting her heels next to his head. He looked away, blushing, from the flash of black petticoats in his vision to avoid potentially getting a glance at anything that would only result in her getting angry and kicking him.

"Get off me!" Lock said, putting his hands on the soles of her pointed shoes and pushing. This threw her off-balance, but unfortunately not enough to completely shake her off, "C'mon, Shock, I'm not gonna say it!"

"I'll get off if you say it," She pressed, swiping a short blue-black curl out of her face.

"I won't say it!"

"Say it!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Say it!"

"Fine! Shock rocks, okay, now get off!"

She beamed, and for a second he thought she wouldn't keep her word, but she obliged and stood up. She let out another giggle and revealed a tape recorder in her hand before dashing up the stairs to her bedroom. He was tempted to chase her and demand that she erase the recording, but he stopped. She was no doubt intending to use it as blackmail later, but he was sure he could also use it to his advantage on occasion.

His eyes fell to a bucket of violet paint that had been abandoned on the floor. Looking around to make sure neither of his cohorts would decide to come into the room, he dipped his hand into the paint and put a dripping handprint on the wall.

Today, he decided, his favorite color was purple.

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**A/N: Ah, finally, a Shlock oneshot! I know, it's not much, and it's not too long, but it does have a bit of fluff, and that's better than nothing, right? **

**This chapter warranted a slight bump up in rating, but I don't think it warrants a Teen rating. As always, I love reviews, and thank you DarkMasterofCupcakes and Jhinra for reviewing the last chapter!**

**~*Inferno Shock*~**


	4. Thunder

**Thunder**

**Rating: **K+

**Pairing(s): **None

**Warning(s): **None

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Shock loved the lightning, the thunder. She loved the way the lightning flashed brighter than any light bulb ever could, cleanly slicing through the dark sky like a massive blade, pulling back and away just as suddenly and just as silently as it had come, darkening the land once again. The thunder she loved perhaps even more, with how it shook the sky, the booming, incoherent voice of the universe.

She never allowed the frequent storms to lull her to sleep, however. Her cohorts always gave into sleep eventually, the thunder acting as a lullaby for the undead, but for as long as she could remember, she had forced herself to stay awake for the duration of the storm.

A wave of thunder rumbled outside, sending a light vibration through the floors of the tree house. The wooden structure groaned in protest against the vibration and the rain pounding down upon it outside as if each raindrop was a watery fist.

The lookout tower had been struck by lightning and set on fire by it before. The occurrence had been a concern at the time (and an annoyance to Oogie, whom had been daringly woken by the tricksters shouting down through the pipe for advice but who had not been concerned himself, assuring them that a small fire like that would be quickly put out by the rain and warning them to not wake him again unless the entire tree house was up in flames), but that worry, like the fire, had been extinguished a few years later, when the young witch had advanced in her magic enough to cast a charm to repel lightning from striking the tree house again. It had to be recast every three years, and the radius of the spell was only five feet from the tree house in all directions, but nobody complained. It worked, and the trees were too sparse for a fire worthy of concern to them to sprout.

Shock did have one thing she despised about storms, however. The tower in which her bedroom was in was taller and narrower than the tower beside it, and it seemed that the difference in design made it more susceptible to the wrath of the tiny, watery fists. At the very least, the roof seemed weaker.

That made her angry.

This time, a hole had been punched in the roof right above her bed, and water was pooling on her bed sheets, soaking the ghostly silhouette on her top blanket and the violet backdrop behind it.

True, the blanket was her least favorite one of the blankets that she owned, but it didn't make her any less upset. After all, she had to _sleep_ on that bed, and how was she supposed to do that when it was soaked through to the mattress and there was a _hole_ in her ceiling?

The devil and ghoul were downstairs stuffing up tiny leaks in the rest of the house with worn socks that had been deemed unwearable by Lock and Shock (Barrel, after all, could not fit footwear, shoes or socks, on his three-toed feet) until the trio could get on the roof in the morning to replace the socks with more permanent pieces of wood and metal. Watching them run around like zombie chickens with their heads cut off trying to patch up these leaks before anything got wet usually amused her so much that she refused to help them out by using a few spells (which she avoided using on a daily basis anyway, despite being advanced in magic for her age) to patch the ceiling up, much to their frustration.

This, however – the gaping hole in her bedroom ceiling – was not just a "little leak". The hole was as large as her fist, and scowling up at it with her hands on her hips, she was pretty sure that the hole would not be temporarily sealed by a mere sock. Letting out a growl of frustration, she looked around for a better solution.

She suddenly found herself wishing that Oogie's lair would get flooded one of these days from the rain. Maybe then he'd understand their never-ending frustrations (for new leaks always sprouted). Then again, she thought, what good would it do? Having his lair flooded would just make Oogie tetchy, and she didn't like it when he was in a bad mood. He always treated them well enough, but when he was in a bad mood, he always wanted them to do stuff for him, and while the trio respected, feared, and admired the bogeyman all in one, they hated chores. She could already see her, Lock, and Barrel shuffling around the surprisingly large lair with buckets in their hands, rushing to dump the offending water out of the area, Oogie hovering over them like a vulture. She quickly pushed the thought out of her head, her mood already dropping at the idea of work.

Shock tromped down the tightly winding staircase that lead to her bedroom, opened the door at the last step, and entered the main room with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She did this in faint hopes of the gesture discouraging her friends, particularly the redheaded devil, from deciding to play something on her.

Lock was standing precariously on the arm of the couch in his (unsurprisingly) maroon pajamas, stuffing a gray sock into a crack in the ceiling. She had an overwhelming temptation to give him a push in the back.

He hadn't noticed her yet, it seemed, and so she decided to give her mischievous idea a go. She crept up behind him, her footsteps muffled from having her shoes off, and stopped a foot away from him to avoid knocking into his swaying tail, an action which would've given her away without a doubt, as his tail had been proven before to be sensitive to being touched.

Shock stood there for a few moments, gauging her move. He drew his pale fingers away from the leak, now stuffed with a sock, alerting her that she was risking being caught if she didn't push him then.

With the thought still running through her head, she slammed the palms of her hands into his back. He wobbled violently, caught off guard, before falling facedown onto the couch.

"Damb it, Ock," Lock growled into the cushion over her giggles.

"What was that?" Shock grinned, clasping her hands together behind her back, "I didn't catch that."

The devil pulled himself up and stood, brushing his cotton pants off.

"Why are you such a pain?" He asked, barring his sharpened teeth at her, clearly unimpressed.

"I have to return the favor sometimes," She smirked.

Lock only rolled his eyes, but she knew that he knew it was true. Making his older friend uncomfortable had always been a hobby for him, and it was even more infuriating because he'd go through with it in the most trivial ways.

"Are there anymore socks?" She asked despite herself. He shrugged, running his tongue over his dry lips.

"I used all the ones I had. Barrel took off with a few, though. He might have one left."

Shock nodded, and left the room in search of the ghoul. She didn't think that a sock would work any more than she did when she had been standing in her bedroom, but it was worth a shot.

She entered the armory, and almost tripped on something large and soft on the floor. Barrel, who was lying on his stomach and wiping a few drops of water off of the firecrackers, glared up at her.

"Watch where you're going," He said.

It looked like none of the trio was in a good mood.

"Are there anymore socks left?" She asked, ignoring his comment. When her green-haired comrade shook his head, she let out a growl of frustration and went back up to her room.

She finally climbed up on the roof through a trapdoor in the ceiling and draped the soaked blanket across the small hole, folding it twice before she did. Fairly certain that the blanket wouldn't get blown away (and that she wouldn't miss it if it did), she fled back inside.

She would have to change her sheets and flip her mattress over, as well, but she shrugged her shoulders, deciding to get that done later.

When Shock finally retreated downstairs an hour later, the rain had stopped.

Unfortunately, she stepped into the main room just as a voice floated up through the "bug pipe".

"LOCK! SHOCK! BARREL! GET DOWN HERE AND GET THIS WATER OUT OF HERE!"

_Drat._

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**A/N: **Special thanks to DarkMasterofCupcakes, who gave me this prompt. It may not be my best piece of writing, but it enabled me to _finally_ put up a new oneshot.

~*Inferno Shock*~


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